Life of Lies
by Colorrogue
Summary: Hermione Granger deals with the death of her professor.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters. Don't sue me; you won't get anything out of it._

Everything had gone exactly as it was supposed to, although the casualties of many close friends ripped the thought of celebration apart. Hermione Granger could never justify partying when children were left orphaned and bodies lay strewn around the grounds of Hogwarts; what was once a sanctuary was now a makeshift cemetery and it made her sick to her stomach. Time passed in a blur and before long, The Daily Prophet had done at least a dozen cover stories of what was dubbed "the golden trio" and Hermione balked at the term. Someone else had used that to describe them, years before the idiots at the Prophet had even thought of the name and guilt threatened to swallow her whole. Late at night or during periods of down time she thought of _him_, lying there with blood rushing from his throat like a flood of crimson truth and she had done nothing. It brought tears to her eyes and it ripped at her rib cage, the pressure behind the feeling enough to break bone and mental barriers that kept them at bay. They had all spoken alone, in the privacy of Gimmauld Place once things had quieted to discuss him specifically in a feeble attempt to rid themselves of guilt but nothing had come from the conversation.

The truth remained that they had all left Severus Snape for dead in the Shrieking Shack with his throat ripped open.

Hermione couldn't come to terms with it and although Ron was able to reason away his own guilt, she was left with haunting images that refused to leave her mind. If she had only stayed behind to help, she was confident she could have saved his life and he would have gotten the recognition he deserved—it was idealistic for her to think the wizarding world would accept such a shady character as a hero, but at least they could try. Sure he was given an Order of Merlin, first class of course but it was always easier to reward a dead man.

When Ron had asked for her hand in marriage, she didn't know how to respond and yet the words flew from her mouth unbidden and unwanted. Hermione knew the world was watching her and waiting for a target to hit with cruel words, and so she said yes to her friend's advances. The truth was that Ronald Weasley was far too daft for her to ever deal with in such an intimate way, his lacking intellect serving as an immense turn off. The only time they had ever tried to be sexual, he ended up prematurely finishing inside his pants and she was left unfulfilled and unimpressed. It killed her to say yes but she knew a part of her died in the Shrieking Shack with him, why not slowly kill the rest of her?

The wedding was high profile, her dress a designer cut from the famous Madame Larouge from France, everything professionally arranged with cameras flashing from every angle. They said she looked beautiful but she felt dirty, like a liar. She could have sworn it was written across her face as she muttered her vows, a false smile perfectly in place while her eyes mirrored despair—Ginny said it just looked like she was concentrating hard on her words, so it was forgotten. Hermione could never tell her sister in law that secretly she hated being married to her brother and so her secret remained buried, along with a possibly more dangerous secret. One that involved a deceased potions professor that took up more space in her heart than he ever should have. She bled for him every waking moment and as the days passed it only seemed to have gotten worse, her new life with Ron only solidifying the fact that she was unhappy. Gifts came from all across the world to congratulate the war heroes and she swallowed her words every time she saw them, the huge diamond on her finger grinning wickedly in the light. The uncharacteristic jewelry knew her secret and it taunted her, weighing her hand down like a chain to this new domesticated life.

Ron allowed her to have a library and that was where she spent the majority of her time, sadly pouring over books that smelled like _his_ office used to… it reminded her of a time where she didn't have to lie, when she didn't have to pretend she was happy. She would settle into a chair and close her eyes, losing herself to the image of his sneer and inky black eyes, his lank and greasy hair that only made him seem more alluring to her. Hermione wasn't sure what she was attracted to in him but sometimes her fantasies would take on a rather sexual twist and those were her favorite, imagining his talented hands over the curves of her body. She was all but frigid when she was outside of her library but once she was alone, she ignited in heat at the thought of Severus Snape's hands exploring her spread folds and discovering new kinks with every new fantasy. It was the only way she could get herself to sleep with Ron, even though she was left unsatisfied every single time.

It was practically a miracle that she conceived and for a few months, she resented her uterus for accepting sup par sperm to fertilize her eggs with. Hermione knew it would do no good to take anything out on the poor little life inside of her and being pregnant took her mind off the phantom of her dreams, instead she chose to focus on monotonous things such as prenatal care and birthing. Every once in a while she would imagine she was pregnant with _his_ child instead of Ron's and it was then that she would stroke her stomach and coo softly to the fetus. The birth of her two children was received ecstatically by the wizarding community and more gifts flowed in with each pregnancy, making her scoff at the stupidity of the public. It was as if they thought that mixing both herself and Ron would create a new sidekick to a new hero, as if their genetics were somehow laced with destiny.

Seeing the children off to Hogwarts was painful and she once more forced a smile for the sake of her reputation but she found herself sleeping more, withdrawing from the world. As a member of the human species it was in her genes to reproduce but nothing stated that she had to do anything more… in fact, she had done more for her species than almost anyone else on Earth. Not only had she raised two viable offspring, but she helped save the entire world. There was nothing else for her to do.

When she fell ill, the healers at St. Mungo were perplexed.

Toxicity reports revealed nothing about the state of her health and nothing foreign ran through her blood, although her status was rapidly deteriorating. At the age of thirty, Hermione Granger-Weasley was dying of a condition that was unable to be diagnosed and her husband was devastated. She wasn't responding to any therapies and the healers doubled their efforts, realizing the public opinion on the hospital if they allowed her to die. As she lay in the hospital bed, she looked over at the sleeping form of Ronald Weasley who had not left her side from the moment she had fallen ill. He looked so much like his father and for a moment her heart broke for the man who loved her unconditionally, sadness radiating for the life they could never have lived happily because of _him_. She could never have been happy while Snape was dead.

When she died, there was a quiet processional quite unlike the fanfare of her wedding and she was laid to rest on the grounds of Hogwarts next to her fallen comrades and the body of Dumbledore. Daffodils were placed on her gravestone by her grieving husband and children, tears and laments from her closest friends. For the first time in a long time, Hermione Granger was at peace.

_Author's note: Just a little something I put together, its nice to be writing again. As always, please review!_


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